


player number five

by megancrtr



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megancrtr/pseuds/megancrtr
Summary: The story of a beat reporter, starting in 1973 until the draft of 2009.





	player number five

It’s 1973 and Gretchen is ten when a German soccer player comes out as gay. Or. Gets outed as gay. Not to the press, but to the village. Her great aunt calls them long distance. Gretchen’s family answers on speaker phone, because they don’t often get calls from Germany, but Gretchen’s great aunt goes yakking her opinions before Gretchen’s mom can turn it off. The player was being eyed by the Bundesliga, by FC Köln. Got caught with a dick in his throat. In public. What a—

Gretchen learns the German word for fag before she learns the English one.

Gretchen is still ten when the same player commits suicide. Her great aunt calls again. When the gossip finally hangs up, Gretchen's mother and father shake their heads and say, “Didn't expect anything less from Germany. From football.”

Gretchen asks some friends about it, but no one at her school knows about the soccer player who was going to become a professional but then was gay and committed suicide. Not even the gym teachers who are supposed to know about sports. They don’t really talk about gay people in school anyway. So Gretchen thinks, That was sad, what happened.

And then doesn’t really think about it anymore.

—

Instead of falling in love with soccer, like her parents would have preferred, Gretchen falls in love with ice hockey. Her parents don’t take her to games, but dump her on their neighbors who have three boys who play.

Gretchen can’t explain her love, especially because she can’t skate. Has fears about skating. But she loves the sound of blades against ice. The absolute magic in the solid pass. The way plays come together, break apart, and evolve all in a matter of seconds. She loves the brutality of it. The way the boards shake with a solid check. How players absolutely rag on one another. How the referees sound off back. She loves banging against the boards and demanding more. How assists are weighted the same as goals, emphasizing the importance of team. Loves the way the whole team celebrates after a goal.

And she loves the locker room. She loves pushing her way inside at eleven years old, pretending to be a hockey reporter, shoving a microphone at boys who are half undressed, who live down the street from her, and demanding, “Do you think you’re playing worse than Tomi because your bedtime is an hour later than his?”

The boys laugh at her questions, at her German accent she hasn’t learned how to hide at that point, and answer her. The coaches call her a cute kid and good at keeping the boys on their toes. They keep letting her into their locker room even though she’s a girl, even as she grows up. “Get them prepared for the real media,” the coaches laugh and say, and Gretchen does.

Because one day she is the real media.

—

Gretchen doesn’t go to college, instead she gets a tip from one of the hockey players she barraged from eleven to eighteen years old, writing for the school paper. He gets drafted to the Flyers, sent down to the Hershey Bears, and he tells her, “The Lebanon Daily News needs a new beat reporter.”

Gretchen packs up her room, kisses her parents goodbye, roughs up her little brother’s hair, and goes to Lebanon for the 1980-81 season, one year after the NHL mandates all players must wear helmets on the ice. When she’s lucky, the Philadelphia Inquirer asks her to freelance a game their beat reporter can’t make, and when she's not, she gets to know the AHL team. The players and the management. Then she gets to know the Flyers’, too.

When the paper doesn’t need her anymore, Gretchen moves to New York City to cover the Rangers, an original 6 team. She settles into a two bedroom apartment, shared by five other reporters, and they get to know each other pretty well. They’re all single, all drifting, all without family in the area.

Two weeks into the regular season, after filing her story about the Rangers losing 8-2 to the Oilers, Gretchen and two roommates go to a gay bar. She hasn’t been before. Lebanon was too small of a town to have one. But NYC. NYC is full of possibilities, full of people. They laugh and get drunk, and Gretchen kisses another woman, her first kiss. They start hanging out. Dating, technically. But they don’t say that to many people. Because. Well, you just don’t.

Gretchen gets to know the Ranger's roster from Pucker to Nicky to James Dean. They call her Gretty and ask her when her boy’s going to come around. “He’s busy,” she tells them, jotting down in her notebook some responses she got and thinking of her smart, witty partner. “Making more than your asses.”

“Oh yeah?” James Dean asks, a cigarette hanging from between his fingers, flexing one pec and then the other. Gretchen’s not sure if it’s on purpose or habit. “What he doing, Gretty?”

“Photography,” Gretchen says. “For celebs.”

“He got some photos of you?”

“None you’re going to see.” Gretchen dots an “i” in her notes. James Dean hoots. Sitting next to him, Pucker whistles. Gretchen rolls her eyes. “Just ‘cause you pretend to find me funny though,” Gretchen says, “doesn’t mean I’m going to write nice things.”

Pucker winks while scrubbing a towel around his dick, and says, “Could never be mad at you.”

—

Pucker goes on IR five days later. Gretchen asks around, asks what’s going on. Management doesn’t say. James Dean won’t say.

“AIDS,” another beat reporter tells her later, whispers into her ear as they sit at a bar together, gossiping about the Rangers and their jobs.

Gretchen mulls that over for one day, two. Wonders if it’s true. Thinks of the way Pucker scrubbed his dick, if that meant he was gay. Or if he’d just hooked up with a woman who’d had sex with a man who was. Either way though, management isn’t saying anything, despite AIDS being a death sentence and Pucker probably not coming off of IR, not ever, if it’s true.

Gretchen considers letting it go, letting management ignore Pucker’s sudden leave. But Pucker has German parents, like her. It wouldn’t be right to just let it go, let it be swept under the rug like Germany tried to do to the Jews. And it’s in Gretchen’s blood to find the truth. A dogged solidarity with other East German immigrants who got out before the border closed eggs her on, too.

The next game, Gretchen corners James Dean away from his teammates in the locker room.

“Off the record,” Gretchen tries, keeping her voice low. “Won’t write about it, but I gotta know about Pucker.”

James Dean tightens his lips and doesn’t say a word besides to tell her to fuck off.

Pucker doesn't return for play, he issues a statement through the publicist announcing his retirement, and Gretchen keeps digging. Four months later, she reads his obit by chance on page 53 of the New York Times.

It doesn't say anything about AIDS or cause of death, but Gretchen finds her way to Yorkville and Mr. and Mrs. Schneider. She waves hello to Pucker's brother, Matthias, peeking out from a bedroom, before introducing herself to Pucker’s parents in German with a smile, and the conversation kicks off. The Schneiders like talking to a reporter, even if she isn't for the New York Times, and then she asks. About Pucker.

“Off the record,” she tells Mr. and Mrs. Schneider. “I just want to know. Won't tell anyone, I promise.”

Mrs. Schneider starts crying and won't stop. Mr. Schneider shouts, and Matthias rushes forward, pushing Gretchen out the door. On the doorsteps, Matthias hesitates with the door open. Then he takes a step outside and closes it behind him. He gives it any extra tug.

He bends down a little, looks around and says, “Promise you won't write this?”

“Promise.”

“He had AIDS.”

Gretchen wants to know more. How did he get it? How long did he live with it? Could any of the other players have it too? Was he gay, like her?

Matthias shakes his head and hurries back inside.

The AIDS epidemic hits the papers not long after, and after a torturous seven months, Gretchen loses nine friends in nine days. One after the other after the other.

Life continues for Gretchen though. She and her girlfriend break up, and the roster turns over in a fervent spiral of trades. Only James Dean remains when the season starts.

The Washington Post calls Gretchen, asks her to cover the Capitals. She agrees.

Gretchen's last game with the Rangers, she tells James Dean, “I know he died from AIDS. Talked to the family.”

James Dean goes white. He licks his lips, glances around. Leans his head close to hers. “Did they tell you about his boyfriend, too?” he asks.

“Why?” Gretchen asks. “That you?”

James Dean laughs a little too loudly, drawing back. “Fuck no,” he says with conviction. “I'm no fag.”

—

It takes a while for Gretchen to learn more about the Capital players than just their playing styles, but eventually she does.

Gretchen learns Junker wanted five kids, but ended up with six when the last pregnancy was twins. Henry Haze loves Campbell's chicken noodle soup — sometimes eats it breakfast, lunch, and dinner — and keeps trying to get an ad deal with them. Captain Crunch talks too much and loses either a tooth or his voice almost every game on the ice. And then there’s Donny, who doesn’t talk much and rooms with three rookies on the team who pingpong so frequently between the Rangers and the Wolf Pack it’s basically like Donny only ever has one roommate.

During that time, Gretchen falls in love three times, and only has her heart broken twice. The third time, apparently, is it for her. Taylor is it for her.

Gretchen keeps on reporting about the Rangers, idly tracking the careers of players she once reported on. So when the Oilers come to town, Gretchen’s not surprised to find James Dean in the locker room as an assistant coach. She is surprised he still remembers her, calls her Gretty. Even though the Oilers lose 3 to 5, they catch up after the game, going to one of the bars all the reporters conjugate at.

“Stay in touch,” she tells him, and he nods, absently. Doesn’t mention Pucker, but Gretchen’s sure he’s on both their minds. Not long after his stint with the Oilers, James Dean starts coaching for the Blues.

—

Gretchen misses the NBC news broadcast about the Berlin Wall being pulled down because she’s covering the Capitals losing to the Bruins. She learns about it from Peter, the Capitals equipment manager she’s only spoken to a handful of times.

He also has German parents, so he tells her in German what’s happened, unable to keep his voice down. She almost drops her notepad and recorder as she packs them away.

“Are you sure?” she demands sharply, the German only a little stilted as it rolls off her tongue.

There are a few players in the room still, giving them a look at their exchange. Peter nods. “It’s on the news. Happened yesterday in Germany.” A laugh bursts from her throat.

Captain Crunch wants to know what’s so funny, and Gretchen leaves it to Peter to fill everyone in. She has to head back to the office to file her post-game story, but then she runs home. Despite the late hour, she phones her mother, who’s already heard the news. They laugh and cry, and her mom starts to make plans about going to see family she and Gretchen's father haven't seen in forty-some odd years, taking Gretchen's younger brother along. It's a good conversation, and Gretchen hangs up with a smile on her lips and a tingle of happiness throughout her whole body. 

Gretchen tosses and turns trying to sleep until Taylor wakes up, giving Gretchen a sleepy look and a sleepier kiss. “They’re taking the Berlin Wall down,” Gretchen whispers, can't keep the giddiness away from her voice. Her partner hums and shifts an arm around Gretchen, pulling her close and burying her nose in Gretchen’s hair.

“I know,” Taylor mumbles. “Was going to tell you in the morning.”

“Anything is possible,” Gretchen mutters. “If the Berlin Wall is coming down—”

Taylor scoots closer, slipping a leg between Gretchen’s. “It does make the possibilities seem endless,” she agrees.

“Will you marry me?” Gretchen asks. “I know we can’t now, I know that’s not—but if the Berlin Wall can fall, anything is possible, and one day—”

“‘Course,” Taylor presses her lips against Gretchen’s throat. “As long as you promise we can joint file, and you’ll do the taxes.” Gretchen agrees. It’s a small price to pay.

—

Gretchen says goodbye to the Capitals and moves back to New York in 1991, but spends her time at the Coliseum instead of Madison Square Garden, the stadium roaring for its Islanders. The team goes 3-9 in October, and that same month, Justin Fashanu, a professional soccer player, comes out as gay.

Taylor hears the news first and passes it along. “Isn’t it great?” Taylor says, pressing a kiss to the back of Gretchen’s head. Gretchen takes a steadying breath, not sure why she needs it, until she remembers the FC Köln player. Her great aunt’s call. The German word for gay. He didn’t come out on his own, and then he committed suicide.

Taylor listens to Gretchen retell the story, her fears. “The same thing won’t happen to Justin,” Taylor says firmly. “The future is better.”

Gretchen nods, throat tight and eyes starting to sting. The story didn’t affect her like this when she first heard it. It didn’t mean anything to her at 10 years old. But after living through the height of the AIDS epidemic, the deaths of her friends, falling in and out of love, finding her life partner.

“It’s alright,” Taylor says and reminds her, “The Berlin Wall came down. Anything is possible.”

Gretchen spends the next few days trying to dig up the name of the FC Köln player. She doesn’t find it.

The next season the players go on strike. Gretchen continues to cover hockey and look for the soccer player’s name.

Within the decade, the World Health Organizations declassifies same-sex attraction as a mental illness. The world gets its first gay actor to play an openly gay character on TV with Wilson Cruz in My So-Called Life. The first TV lesbian wedding happens on Friends.

Gretchen holds her breath for maybe the first out hockey player. She hears rumors about one player or another, has her own suspicions about some of the Islanders. But nothing happens.

Then, toward the end of the decade, Justin, the soccer player, commits suicide.

Gretchen tries not to cry, but it’s hard to do when Taylor keeps breaking out in sobs. “I thought the future was ready,” Taylor says. “That it was now.” Gretchen nods and agrees, and wraps her arms around her partner.

An idea forming in her head, Gretchen murmurs, “Maybe they’re just not ready to do it alone.”

Gretchen calls up James Dean the off-season of 1998, getting the number from a contact of a contact. He’s with the Panthers now as assistant head coach.

“James Dean,” she says.

He laughs at her greeting. “Gretty,” he explains, “people don’t call me that anymore.”

“What do they call you now?”

“My name,” James Dean says.

Gretchen laughs. “I didn’t ever call you that except when writing about you. I’m not calling you your real name now.” And then before James Dean can argue anymore she says, “Listen. Remember Pucker?” James Dean falls quiet, and Gretchen waits for him to answer.

She waits and waits, watches the second hand on her wristwatch get around a full circle and then some. Finally James Dean says, “Yeah.”

“Do you know about Justin Fashanu?”

“He gay?” James Dean asks, and Gretchen says, “Yeah,” before telling James Dean the story. About Justin coming out and then killing himself.

“And I think we’re ready for players to come out, they just don’t want to do it alone. They’ve got to do it together.”

“How do you even know there are even—”

Gretchen cuts him off, “If there were gay hockey players when you were playing, there’s gay players now.” She doesn’t say, “Do you really think you and Pucker were the only ones?”

James Dean is silent again for a while, which isn’t how he was when he was playing.

“I want to find five players,” Gretchen says. “And once I’ve got all five players, then I’ll do a story about it. Big piece, New York Times. I know the editor there. Five players takes the heat off, shows there’s more than one person. No one needs to be the first out player in the NHL. No need to feel a lot of heat.” Gretchen swallows. “No reason to commit suicide,” she finishes softly.

James Dean takes a heavy breath on the other end of the line and says, “What do you need from me?”

—

Twelve days later, James Dean gives Gretchen a call. “I’ve found you player number one,” he tells her.

Gretchen heart rate skyrockets. She didn’t think it would happen so soon, so quickly. “Who is it?” She can’t help how breathless she sounds.

James Dean snorts. “I’m not telling you until you have five, but I’m letting you know you have one.”

—

Gretchen makes a lot of calls, pitches her story to whoever in the NHL she thinks might help her. Equipment managers like Peter, directors of communications, assistant coaches.

It’s not until 2000, when Hillary Clinton becomes the first First Lady to march in a pride parade, that Gretchen hears from Shannon, the director of communications for the Kings, that she has a player. “What does that bring your count to?” Shannon wants to know.

“Two,” Gretchen says. “Three more to go.”

Shannon laughs. “You first told me about this in 1999, and you only have one other player?”

“Well they’re not very easy to find, are they?” Gretchen shifts the phone to between her shoulder and ear, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. “Took you a year. You gonna tell me who it is?”

Gretchen watches the clock, pen poised.

“This is off the record,” Gretchen clarifies when Shannon doesn’t say anything else. It doesn’t even sound like she’s breathing on the other line. “I’m not going to tell anyone, and I’m not going to do a story until I have five, and I’ll check back in with you and him before moving on the story.” Gretchen licks her lips. Nothing from Shannon, but Gretchen can make out a shaky breath on the other line. “Listen,” she says after thirty silent seconds have passed. “I’m not going to fuck your player over. I’m going to do this right. I’ve been thinking about this for years. How to do it, how to write it, which publication to give the story to. You know that, Shannon. You know me.”

“Okay,” Shannon says. “It’s number 47.”

Gretchen nods, writes it down. She doesn’t know the player off the top of her head. “Thanks,” Gretchen says, and then Shannon hangs up.

—

The Islanders give her hope throughout the early 2000s that they might make it to the Stanley Cup soon. But it doesn’t happen. And in 2004, Gretchen covers another lockout, and then the news that the NHL is expanding with four more teams: the Houston Aeros, Las Vegas Aces, Providence Falconers, and Seattle Schooners.

November of 2005, Gretchen sits down with Long Island native Thomas Blake, number 6. She pulls out her notepad like always, flicks on her recorder, and then the communications manager, Nora Miller, shows up. “Sorry,” she apologies, “so sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” Gretchen asks, because Nora has never facilitated a fluff-piece of an interview before.

“Is that on?” Nora waves to the recorder. “Shut it off. Off the record?” Gretchen looks from Nora to Tommy, face flushed and looking intently at his coffee.

Gretchen shuts off the recorder. “Off the record,” she agrees, noticing how the table they’re at is a little more secluded than players usually go to for interviews. Wonders why they’re not doing this in an office somewhere if it’s off the record. Nora probably has a reason though, so Gretchen lets it go.

“Great,” Nora says, sliding into the chair next to Tommy. She clears her throat, waves her hand at Tommy and says, “I found you a player for that five-person profile piece you’re working on.”

Gretchen snaps her eyes to Tommy. He has gone red. Bright, cherry red everywhere his beard doesn’t cover. “Yeah?” she asks.

Tommy nods, the power of speech apparently eluding him.

“You make three,” Gretchen tells Tommy. “I still need to find two more players. Won’t do anything without five, with five—”

“I know someone else,” Tommy blurts out. “There’s. One of my. Anyway. So you have four then. One more to go.”

—

Stephanie, assistant coach for the Aeros, tugs Gretchen aside after the Jan. 4 Aeros vs. Islanders game in 2006. “James Dean told me about your five-person profile piece,” she explains.

Gretchen’s stomach swoops. “If you have someone, that’ll make five.”

Stephanie laughs. “I do. Number 83. I can give you his contact info, he’s expecting a call from you.”

Gretchen grins, taking out a notepad and pen. “That would be great, yeah.” Gretchen takes down the player's contact info, and not much later she's laughing into a kiss from Taylor.

"I have five,” Gretchen says, cheers. “I’ve got five!” Taylor peppers kisses over her face, and then drags her to the bar two blocks down.

“We’re celebrating,” Taylor says to Gretchen, the bartenders, some regulars they recognize. “We have to celebrate!”

And they do. The two of them get drunk, kissing between swallows of alcohol and the bartender wolf whistles at them when they get too into it. He kicks them out of the bar once he’s deemed they’ve had one too many.

Gretchen calls James Dean at 1 a.m., her and Taylor stumbling back to the apartment. “James Dean,” she shouts at the voicemail, “I’ve got player number five. Tell me who you have for me, and I’m gonna get the ball rolling. Get this started! I’ve got five, James Dean!” She whoops, and Taylor steals her phone away, giggles against her lips.

“No more athletes like Justin,” Taylor tells Gretchen.

“No more like FC Köln,” Gretchen promises.

—

James Dean, coach of the Aces now, calls Gretchen back in the morning. “The player I told you about,” James Dean says. “He retired two years ago.”

Gretchen’s heart sinks. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

Gretchen tries to convince the players she’s been in touch with that four is enough. They disagree. The story goes back on hold.

—

It’s 2009, Gretchen is 42 years old, and her and Taylor are trying to decide whether to adopt their first kid. Mid-way through the conversation, papers and research spread out on the kitchen table, Gretchen’s cell phone rings. She glances at the caller ID.

“It’s James Dean,” Gretchen says, and Taylor motions for her to take it. Gretchen gets up from the table, heads over to the window. She tugs it shut to block out the traffic, and then answers.

“Gretty,” he says. “I’ve got you player number five.”

Gretchen bites back a grin, drops her head in relief. “Yeah?”

“As long as no one else has retired on you.”

Gretchen raps her knuckles against the window. “They haven’t.”

“No one backed out?”

Gretchen shakes her head, heart pounding hard. “Not a one. Talked to them all last year.”

“Want to guess who number five is?”

“No, I want you to tell me.” Gretchen glances over at Taylor, who’s watching closely. Gretchen gives her partner a small smile.

“Kent Parson. He's the number one draft pick.”

Gretchen almost drops the phone. “I know who the fuck that is, are you shitting me?”

James Dean laughs, and he tells her, “No. No, I’m not. He’s your fifth player.”

“Shit,” Gretchen says, and she needs to sit. She drops right to the floor. She can’t explain how this feels to her, tells James Dean as much. He agrees with her, lets her know how much he’s looking forward to the piece, how long he’s been waiting for it.

“If I was still playing, Gretty,” James Dean tells her after a pause, “I would’ve volunteered to be your number five. You know that, right?”

Gretchen closes her eyes, tilts her head back against the cabinets. “If I was a player,” Gretchen confesses, “I would’ve been my own number five.”

James Dean is silent for a moment and then says, “I didn’t know.”

Gretchen hums. “My partner, Taylor, and I, we’re thinking of adopting a kid.”

“Sounds like the future is looking pretty good,” James Dean says.

Gretchen agrees. She’s seen the Berlin Wall fall, a lesbian host the Academy Awards, and now five NHL players are going to come out, together. The future’s looking bright indeed.

—

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! In canon, we know this isn't how the NHL gets its first out player, but let me hope and dream that this happened in late 2010 of CP, after Gretchen held all her interviews and her article went through two rounds of vigorous fact checking. And then the pressure was off all future players and Kent found a community of people like him, didn't resent himself or Jack as much, and didn't get so sad at Jack's kiss. <3
> 
> A couple of notes on historical accuracy, if anyone's interested: The FC Köln player is made up, but Justin's story is real. There was a fair amount of controversy about his life, but he is still considered the first out professional player, though in later interviews Justin's brother claims Justin was never gay. The other moments in history, either related to LGBTQ+ events or not, are all real, including the NBC broadcast of the fall of the Berlin Wall.
> 
> For the hockey parts of this, beyond the players, which are all fictitious (as are the CP team names), the game outcomes, hockey happenings, and weird facts, including that the Flyers' farm team was once the Bears, are all true to the best of my knowledge and research. 
> 
> But if you see something wrong, please flag it! Thanks again for reading :)


End file.
